


Resouled and Reborn

by ashleyerwinner



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Souled!Spike, Spuffy, angsty, season six rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyerwinner/pseuds/ashleyerwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's looking at Buffy. Not the Buffybot, not some freaky realistic dream -- it's Buffy. It's Buffy, and she's standing next to Dawn. Alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resouled and Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluffy but I'm sorry (my first buffy fanfic!!!)

It's not a hard choice to regain his soul after Buffy dies, but even though he knows he's doing the right thing to keep his promise to Buffy, it's not easy for Spike to leave Dawn behind with the rest of the Scoobies. " _Keep Dawn alive, at any cost,"_  she'd said. He'll be a better person (not exactly a person, but as close to one as he'll ever be again) with a soul, and with a soul, he'll be able to take care of Dawn the best he can. For now, the rest of the gang will have to keep her from falling into trouble at any turn. The Buffybot will do her job, keep the boogeyman fear of the Slayer deep in the hearts of the scum of the Hellmouth. How hard will it be to pop a soul back in his body? 

It's been thirty days, a month, when Spike finally leaves. A month of feeling a hole ripped inside of him, a month where he expected at every turn to see the Slayer's annoyed face rolling her eyes at him. A month of turning with a quip on the tip of his tongue only to have the disappointment of an empty space, a sinking pit in his stomach. Buffy's gone; dead. He leaves with a promise to Dawn of returning, and tries to ignore the tears in her eyes, the pleading of "don't leave me here alone". But he can't stay, not like this. He made a promise to the woman he loved --  _loves_ , and he'll die before turning his back on that. 

\--

Time doesn't fade slowly, or speed up with anguish. He can feel every second of the pain happen, being ripped open, torn to shreds, lit on fire from the inside, and electrocuted with the pain of his soul returning to his body. The trials have taken a toll on him for sure, but with the thought of Buffy, he's been able to keep going. It's been 47 days, sixteen hours, and thirty six minutes since Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world, and that death would last a lifetime. He has no choice but to suffer as long as he has to to keep his word to her. She's worth at least that, and much, much more. The first thing he feels after the pain is emotional anguish. Every second of torture, killing, and maiming has come back with the guilt, the anguish, the never-ending feeling of dread. He's hurt so many people; killed so many people. IT's no wonder Buffy could never love someone like him. He's sinned, and sinned so much, he couldn't blame her for not wanting to even look at him with any kind of tolerance. 

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he says to no one but himself. He doesn't move from the spot he's sunk to, and wonders how she ever tolerated him at all.

\--

It's with a roar of his motorcycle and a pompous smirk on his lips when he returns to Sunnydale. As if she knows the meaning of that sound anywhere, Dawn's at the door before he's headed past the yard, smiling from ear to ear. The happiness doesn't quite hit her eyes yet, but he's sure they're on the same page when she wraps her arms around his torso and says, "you're back". Wobbly, and unsure, he wraps his arms around her tiny frame.

"Couldn't stay far from you, lil' bit." He says back, softer than intended. She doesn't make note of it, and he's grateful. She pulls away, teary-eyed, and invites him in, filling him in on the current state of affairs. Willow and Tara race down the stairs, hearing the door slam, and apprehensively, they greet him. 

"They're living in Mom's old room," Dawn says, smiling. He nods, and shuffles uncomfortably at Willow's angry glare.

"Where have you been, exactly?" Red asks, and she sounds horribly like a disgruntled mother. He clenches his jaw in anger, not understanding the sudden disapproval in his disappearance. No one seemed to want him around this much before.

"I was gettin' my soul back," he says, arms outstretched, and all tension in the room relaxes away. 

"And? It worked?" Tara asks, eyebrows raised hopefully. Spike nods, a small thing. 

"You did it for her, didn't you?" Dawn asks, a wobbly thing, and all he can do is nod, uncomfortable with the sudden positive focus on him. He's nearly winded by Dawn as she wraps her arms around him again, but finds he doesn't mind when the other two girls come and join her. He feels suddenly as if he's been accepted into this group of misfits, and just as suddenly, he's grateful for it.

\--

At 100 days of Buffy being gone, the pain of her absence still hasn't faded a bit. They're all constantly reminded of her, watching the Buffybot parade around pretending to be her. Rage at Red and the others springs up when the robot mimics his lost love, reverting to her old programming and saying things Buffy would never say to him. At times, he wants to rip the machine apart, smash the electronics and tear the wires until they spark and snap. But the bloody thing looks too much like Buffy to do more than scowl in its direction and stomp away, angry at the world. 

"I hate it as much as you. We all do," Dawn says one day. "It's a constant reminder that she's gone. But --"

"It's what has to be done, yes, that's what I've been told," Spike says, anger in his voice. Dawn is silent for a moment.

"She'd have been proud of you, I think." She says, and leaves before he can respond. It leaves him with a sort of pleasant feeling, despite the anger still swirling around the bot situation. Buffy'd have been proud of him. 

\--

146 days leaves Spike worried about the rest of the gang. They've started whispering amongst themselves for the last few weeks, conspiratorially around he and Dawn. Something about that doesn't sit right, and it makes him feel as if they think he's reverted back to his old ways, harping on some love obsession with Dawn that makes them uncomfortable. He's paranoid to the fact that he starts distancing himself from Dawn, using her name instead of his nicknames for her, treating her more like a pesky little girl than the friend she's become to him. 

At 148 days, he realizes their whispers were something for much worse.

He's looking at Buffy. Not the Buffybot, not some freaky realistic dream -- it's Buffy. It's Buffy, and she's standing next to Dawn. Alive. 

"She's kind of... um..." Dawn starts. He can't take his eyes off of Buffy. "She's been through a lot." Buffy starts doing up her blouse buttons, but he can't take his eyes off of her face. Those big doe eyes, her hair, her flawless skin. It's all real. And her hands -- they're --

"What did you do?" He asks, not taking his eyes off of Buffy. He couldn't look away if it meant his life. 

"Me? I didn't do anything." Dawn says, soft and small. She's as in the dark as he is. 

"Her hands." He says, and Buffy makes eye contact with him. Suddenly, he can't bear to look at her anymore. 

"I don't know how they got that way," Dawn says. Spike feels a pang of hurt course through him.

"I do. Clawed her way out of her coffin, that's how." He says. "Right?" He asks her. She responds with a soft "yeah". The pain of her death resurfaces with that one word, and he feels as if he's choking. Dawn excuses herself to find some bandages, and Spike offers his hand to Buffy to guide her down the stairs. Hesitantly, she takes it.

"You stay here, too?" She asks. She's not looking at him, and he can't blame her. She's come back from the dead, and this isn't the easiest thing for any creature to do. He takes her hands in his.

"During the day, in the basement." He says, and leads her to the couch. 

"How long have I been..." He finishes the sentence for her in his head. Dead. 

"147 days," he breathes. He looks at her, the radiance she emanates. No one would think just hours ago she was raised from the dead. It's an awe he feels in the soul he's still getting used to. "148 today, but that really doesn't count," he laughs. She doesn't. "How long was it for you, where you were?" He asks.

"Longer." She answers. She's looking at him differently now, like he's something she can't figure out. "What else has changed?" She asks, and it's almost as if she knows.

"Let's save that for another day, Slayer," he says, but she shakes her head softly. "You've had quite the day."

"Spike?" She says, and his reservations wear away.

"I went and got my soul back," he says, answering her. She breathes evenly, but time slows for him. He searches her face for any tell of what she's feeling, but she's so in shock from it all, how could he ever possibly know? He squeezes her hands, once, and she blinks.

"Your soul," she says, and that's the end of that. Dawn comes back with the bandages, and Spike watches Buffy's numb face as Dawn talks to her animatedly about her current life. It's Buffy, he reminds himself. But what have they brought her back from?

\--

His next few days are spent tiptoeing around Buffy as she readjusts to her life again. She seems alarmed any time they're around each other, her eyes wide and hands trembling. "Sorry, Slayer," has become a phrase he says more often than ever, and the rest of the gang seem to be as worried as he is. 

"She's just come back from some horrible hell dimension. Give her time," Red says. It makes sense for her to readjust. If they try to push her too far, they may lose her again. 

Behind the Magic Box is when they finally meet again, on their own. She's so beautiful, in the light. If it weren't for his affliction he'd be able to take advantage of seeing her in the sun's ray for eternity. But she looks so withdrawn, sad in a way he can't bear. 

"Are you okay?" He asks, even though she isn't. She responds with an obligatory "I'm good", even though it comes off forced. "If you're in pain, if you ever  _need_  anything, I want to be there for you." He says. "I haven't been in a hell dimension as of late, but I do know a thing or two of torment -- the soul thing --"

"I was happy," she interrupts. And he lets her. "Wherever I was, I was happy. And warm. And loved." He sits and looks at her with profound confusion. "I think I was in heaven," she whispers, and his body fills with dread.

"Buffy," he says, but she doesn't look up. 

"I was torn out of there, and now I'm in hell. Every day I have to live in this hard, bright world, knowing that I was torn out of heaven." She doesn't sound sad, or angry. She's numb, resigned. Truly in her own hell. Before he knows what he's doing, his arms are wrapped around her fully, and he knows he doesn't imagine the press of her cheek on his chest. She doesn't cry, and he doesn't speak, but they sit and listen to the everyday chatter of the general public, secluded in a back alley while her friends high five each other for ripping her out of a hell dimension. 

"They can never know," says Buffy. His good, pure, loving, protecting Buffy. They don't deserve not to know. They deserve to have this pushed into their faces, that they couldn't let her rest in peace, that they tore her out of her one true place of joy. But he gives her what she wants, always.

\--

Shock fills Spike's system when Buffy appears in the basement later that night.

"I can't sleep," she explains, and Spike moves over on the bed to make room for her. She sits next to him, and holds her knees to her chest. 

"Luckily for you, I don't sleep at night usually," he says, a smile light on his face. She grants him a slight grin in response. They sit in silence for awhile, strangely comfortable.

"How's it feel to be living with a soul?" She asks, not looking at him. He exhales loudly, racking his brain to find a way to explain it. 

"It's like having a burst appendix being shoved through your navel, but somehow, you're thankful for it." He says, and she rolls her eyes. He sombers his answer and replies more seriously. "It's living with a guilty pit in your stomach, a never-ending list of your wrongs being pushed through your head at any given moment. It's the overwhelming sense of impending doom, and the knowledge that you're never seeing those pearly white gates everyone talks so fondly of." He says. "But I did it for you, to keep the promise I made you." He adds. "So it was worth it."  She looks up at him, a genuine look of affection in her eyes. 

"Thank you, for taking care of her," she says softly, before looking away. Her approval lifts his spirits, and he hums a response. Her head drifts onto his shoulder almost hesitantly, and he looks down at the top of her head with all the love in the world. He adjusts so his arm is wrapped around her, and she settles comfortably against him. 

"Thank you for everything, Spike." She whispers, and her eyelids flicker shut.

"Anything for you, Slayer."


End file.
